gold and silver line my heart
by saltzmans
Summary: Spencer's fallen down the rabbit hole but this time wonderland has less white rabbits and mad hatters and more kissing behind cupboard doors and scribbling notes between the lines of poetry —ezraspencer.


**notes **| this is quite possibly the strangest thing i have ever written and i completely blame z, so this is dedicated to you!

* * *

burned into my heart  
are those stolen images.

_–without you, lana del ray_

—

In the beginning all it feels is _wrong _because he's meant to be in love with Aria and she's meant to be her best friend but somehow it happens anyway and it's a kind of a cracked and broken happening because it's all a tangle of lustful nights with no lights on, bruises drawn across pale shoulders and the kind of love which is only found in books.

It's improper and impulsive and just a little bit crazy and Spencer Hastings, of all people, should hate their morbid affair but in the end she just lies in his arms and convinces herself she's in love.

—

It starts because she's feeling _restless. _

It's a kind of instability really; a churning of the stomach, like she's a ship and the oceans are rolling and the waves are crashing and all it's going to take to push her under is one more gust of wind.

Maybe it's something to do with the fact that Toby seems to be drifting from her and that she's still getting texts from A and that her whole life seems to be one packed dynamite with a fuse which hadn't quite been lit

Whatever it may be – whatever fucked up twist of fate has let her down that strand of life – Spencer decides to ask Mr Fitz out for a drink.

They're just finishing re-evaluating Spencer's college application and it's that kind of winter evening when rain falls in sheets and you can see your breath dancing into the air when you laugh and it's so cold that it sends a shiver down ones spine. And it's stupid and mad and _far _too cliched for Spencer Hastings but she can't help thinking that it's one of those days where anything can happen, so when Ezra hands her the edited application, she asks him.

His face is priceless and Spencer idly thinks that even if he says no and never looks her in the eye again, his wide mouth and slightly terrified eyes are worth it.

But she shouldn't have worried because the next thing she knows, the horrified expression his replaced with a half smile which kind of says, _I give up_, Ezra is holding out Spencer's coat for her and Spencer wonders that if sometimes, maybe cliches are for the better.

—

He takes her to a pub just outside of Rosewood; a run down log cabin in the middle of the woods. They're the only ones there and it's a kind of unspoken agreement that they have to go somewhere unknown because it's not even the teacher-student thing anymore because Ezra decided a long time ago he was way past that, but the thing is that there are too many eyes in Rosewood and they're both too caught in the shroud of secrecy to ever climb out.

It takes a while for either of them to actually say anything – Spencer is taking large sips of her beer like her life depends on it and Ezra is holding his glass so tight it is close to snapping. Eventually Spencer speaks because she's leader of the debate team and running for class president and she's not going to let a bit of small talk stop her now.

"It's nice weather we're having," she comments casually. The alcohol burns the back of her throat.

Outside rain dances off of the empty gravel parking lot.

Ezra nods amiably. His nails dig into the flesh of his palm, knuckles turning white. "If you're one for the pouring rain and Arctic temperatures."

Spencer's eyes dance. "Who said I wasn't?" She asks.

"Not me," Ezra replies, and his hand relaxes on the glass.

—

They end up in the back of his car and the rain hits the roof of the car in sheets but neither of them really _mind_ because Spencer's got her arms around his neck, and her lips are pressed frantically against his, Ezra's hands slipping under the material of her blouse, tracing stories into the small of Spencer's back. It's clumsy and it's messy; their kisses taste like Carlsberg and their hair is wet with rain but their two drunk to care and really it's a little bit more than that because they've been fucked around oh-so many times, it's kind of nice to forget.

—

Their relationship is twisted and tattered and is blown away on breezes which taste like leather car seats and secrets but Spencer revels in it.

It's a bit like the adventures she craved when she was little, really; she's fallen down the rabbit hole but this time wonderland has less white rabbits and mad hatters and more kissing behind cupboard doors and scribbling notes between the lines of poetry. Spencer can tell that Ezra doesn't really love her. But then, she doesn't really love him either – at least that's what she tells herself.

It's that broken physical attraction that every girl wants. It's the bitty-gritty romance of forbidden love, kissing in the pouring rain in the middle of abandoned parking lots, the water running off their skin as their hands grasp at anything they can find until their gasping and their skin is painted with bruises and the world implodes around them.

—

Bit by bit, they begin to drift from everyone in their life. Spencer's friends bagger her endlessly – squeaking about _A _and _Ali _and _Who The Fuck Would Try To Kill Them Next _– and it just bores her now because all Spencer can think of are hazel eyes and messy hair and–

Toby hangs around too much. He looks like a lost puppy waiting for someone to throw him a bone. Sometimes he tries to speak to Spencer. He asks her about _School_, and _Family, _and, _What She's Going To Do Now? – _and Spencer just smiles – an empty, dead smile – and lets the words wash of her, fingers running along the hickeys etched across her neck.

—

One night, when it's dark and the clocks are ticking backwards, Spencer stays behind at school. The corridors are empty and every step seems to echo round the building. The light in his room is on when she peers through the door. Ezra's sitting at his desk, a pile of essays abandoned as he sits back, pen in mouth, flicking through an battered copy of _Catcher in the Rye. _As she watches, he scribbles something in the margin. Spencer lets out a snort.

"Writing in books," she says, her voice drawling. "Isn't that kind of like drawing a mustache on Vincent Van Gogh?"

Ezra looks up, his eyes wide. "It helps me remember," he tells her, bending the book and putting it down on the desk. Spencer sits herself on its edge, picking up the book. It's open on the last page and a line is circled – "Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody." Next to that the word _Spencer _is written Ezra delicate cursive.  
Spencer raises an eyebrow. "And what's that supposed to mean?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

Ezra takes a moment to reply, his hands snaking up around Spencer's waist. "It means," he replies, pulling her forward until she's straddling him, their faces inches apart. "It means that you should open up more."

"Oh, really?" Spencer asks. There's something oddly terrifyingly dangerous about this. She's not quite sure why. Maybe it's because Ezra's eyes are glinting dangerously and there's something predatory about the way he's got his arms locked round her waist. "What do you want to know?"

Ezra looks her dead in the eye and all Spencer can focus are his pupils which are wide and dilated as he murmurs "_you_"and all of a sudden they're kissing.

It's a desolate feeling as their lips press together, teeth clashing amidst the frenzied hands running across hips and necks and chests and legs. But it's kind of beautiful at the same time, Spencer thinks, that she wouldn't mind the feeling of Ezra's arms around her burned into her skin 'till the end of time.

—

A few days later, Ezra takes her to the woods. It's a sunny day but the air is icy and there's that feeling of adventure in the air again as they lie side by side, hands intertwined and when Ezra leans over and kisses her, Spencer lets herself explode.

_._

_._

_._

_please don't favourite without reviewing._


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